


Eye for an Eye

by mouse42



Category: Batman: The Animated Series, Gargoyles
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouse42/pseuds/mouse42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Owen, please. It's just a charity auction, not the end of the world."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye for an Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Written long ago for a weird challenge on LJ that I cannot fully remember.

"No."

It wasn't a word Owen Burnett spoke very often, especially to his employer, David Xanatos, but this time, promise or no promise, he was putting his foot down.

"No," he repeated for emphasis. "I will not go, sir."

"Nonsense, Owen," David replied, rising from his chair and dismissing Owen's protests with a careless wave of his hand. "It's for charity. It will improve the image of Xanatos Enterprises, not to mention the fantastic opportunities we can take advantage of in the process. You're going."

"But why me, sir?" Owen asked, trying a different tactic. He wasn't whining. It wasn't possible for Owen Burnett to whine. However, he was a close to it as he would ever get. "Certainly another member of your employ would be better suited."

"I need someone there I can trust." David leaned back against the front of his massive desk, crossing his arms over his chest. Owen didn't like the smile on his face, knowing exactly what that sort of smile usually implied. "To be honest, you're about the only person on that list, what with that whole, 'lifetime of loyal service' deal..."

Damn. He had to bring that up, didn't he? Owen sighed, closing his eyes briefly in resignation.

"Very well, sir," he said, knowing that, in the end, he would have agreed anyway. There was no sense in dragging it out. "I will do my best to serve you admirably in this capacity."

"Owen, please. It's just a charity auction, not the end of the world." David looked far too amused. "Besides, most people would relish a three-day cruise. I'd go myself, but I do have that very important meeting with the Amir to consider."

"Which you had me reschedule this morning." Owen's eyes narrowed, a barely perceptible frown tugging at his lips. "You planned this all along, didn't you, sir."

"Of course I did." David crossed the room, putting a friendly hand on his assistant's shoulder. "The event is a little too high profile for me right now and, quite frankly, I'd rather not listen to Bruce Wayne run his mouth. Anyway, it'll be good for you to get out."

Owen chose not to comment on that. "If that will be all, sir, I would best spend my time preparing for the event."

"Actually, there's just one more thing." David crossed back over to his desk, a spring in his step. He pulled open the top drawer, drawing out a white, plastic bag. He tossed it to Owen, who caught it easily, then reached inside, very wary.

It was a Hawaiian shirt.

Not only was it a Hawaiian shirt, but it had to be the most garish, hideous, loud Hawaiian shirt Owen ever beheld. It made his eyes hurt just to look at it. Worst of all, it was exactly his size.

He gave David a very pained expression.

"Off you go!" David said, practically pushing Owen out of his office. "Have fun, try to mingle, and don't forget your sunscreen."

The sound of David's office door slamming behind him as he stood in the hallway echoed like a death knell.

* * * * * *

Owen spent the first half of the first day on the boat hiding in his stateroom, doing paperwork.

He managed to get a great deal accomplished, even with the island-style Calypso music drifting down from the Fiesta Deck above. A month's worth of spending analyses, project status updates, and employee bonus proposals appeared on the screen of his laptop, meticulously organized. He sent the entire gaggle of mundane business information, along with a sixteen-page, painstakingly researched earnings and expenditures report, directly to David over their secure wireless network. Less than a minute later, his e-mail informed him of a reply.

"Go out, get some sun, and wear that shirt," stated the e-mail. "I'll know if you don't."

Owen sighed. He'd hoped he could avoid all of this, but it was becoming readily apparent that would not be the case. Going over to his bags, he did as instructed, changing into a pair of khaki shorts and that horrible, horrible shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. A pair of outrageously expensive prescription sunglasses replaced his usual corrective lenses. Much to his consternation, but not to his great surprise, he found in the bottom of his bag a pair of flip-flops.

He didn't know how David managed to slip those in and he really didn't want to know.

"Every life is precious." Owen repeated the mantra under his breath as he slipped on the sandals. "Every life is precious. Every life is precious."

He took his laptop with him to the poolside.

It was difficult to find a lounge chair far enough away from the simpering socialites, obnoxious playboys, and the out-of-place-and-trying-too-hard nuevo riche, but he managed it. The sweet, salty air of the ocean around him tickled his nose, while the chlorine from the pool made his eyes burn. The hot, unrelenting sun overhead threatened to burn his whiter than white skin, regardless of how much SPF 65 he'd slathered on it. The vinyl slats of the lounge chair pinched him in places he'd much rather not be pinched.

All in all, Owen was miserable.

His alter ego would not be enjoying himself, either. Sure, there was something fascinating about what happened to people when they were confined in large groups for long periods of time with no hope of escape. Still, if he wanted to study that, he'd go get himself thrown into prison. Anything was better than a damn boat.

He'd taken cruises before. After that little debacle with the Titanic, though, the Puck and all of the personalities he'd taken on since tended to avoid ships. It hadn't been totally his fault. Raven certainly held some of the blame.

He didn't care much for the ocean, anyway. Old forests, with their vast riches and ancient stories, put him much more at ease. The old trees were always more than happy to whisper their tales in his ears and welcome him among them.

Kelp tended to whine a lot, in his experience.

Still, he'd made a promise to David, one he wouldn't take back even if such a thing were possible. He put forth the effort, doing as instructed, getting some sun, wearing the Hades-inspired shirt, and, while technically not mingling as much as David might prefer, he wasn't hiding anymore.

In these sorts of circumstances, Owen long ago decided that close enough was good enough.

Deciding the lounge chair would never be comfortable, Owen shifted until he found a position that pinched him the least. The laptop felt heavy on his stomach, heating his skin almost unpleasantly as the Windows logo flashed across the screen. As soon as he was able, he pulled up an extremely dry cost-spending analysis report to read in order to pass the time until the auction itself.

"Hi there, pudd'n!"

Owen started as a woman's head suddenly appeared over his shoulder, sweet, yet spicy perfume filling his senses. Her jaw worked rapidly at a large gob of gum in her mouth as she leaned too far within his personal space. She didn't seem to notice or care.

"What'cha readin'?" she asked, squinting down at his laptop screen. "Looks boring."

"Can I help you?" Owen quickly lowered the screen, hiding the text from view. 

The girl huffed, then walked around his chair, sitting in the one right next to him. Owen looked her over. She was pretty, to be sure, wearing a purple and green bikini that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. A bubble-gum bubble blew out from between her lips, its size almost obscuring her face before it popped. She crossed her legs on the lounge chair, smacking her gum, and twirling one blond pigtail around her finger.

Owen reasoned that she was most likely the daughter, wife, or escort of one of the guests. He was hedging his bests on the latter. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with humor, yet she stared at Owen intently, as if trying to figure something out. At last, she snapped her fingers.

"I know you!" she said excitedly. "You're Owen Burnett. I saw you on the news when your boss got tossed in the slammer."

"Yes," Owen said, frowning at her lack of tact. True, his employer had been in jail recently, but only for receiving stolen property. He was out in a matter of weeks. It wasn't something that was brought up in polite circles.

"He around?" the girl asked, looking right and left before grinning broadly at Owen. "I'd like to meet him."

"I'm afraid Mr. Xanatos was unable to attend this gathering due to important business matters," Owen informed her. "I have been sent to represent him in his absence."

"Oh."

The disappointment came off her in palatable waves. She slumped, kicking moodily at the wooden deck and Owen hoped, in his heart of hearts, that she would be so put out by the news that she would just go away. Again, his hopes were dashed.

"So!" she said, perking up. "You work for him, right? I bet he pays you lots and lots of money." Leaning close, her perfume overwhelmed him again. It didn't go well with the scent of the bubble gum. "You single, cutie?"

Owen blinked, taken aback. "No," he said after a moment, then blurted the first thing that came to mind. "I'm married to my work."

The girl stared at him, then giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Funny, too!" she said, once she gained control of herself. She leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. "Say, cutie, want to hear a great joke?"

Shifting away from her hand, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, Owen shook his head. "Not at this time, thank you," he told her.

A change came over her instantly. Her eyes narrowed, growing dark. She clenched her hands into fists by her side, hunching her shoulders, and looking very much like she might lash out at him any second. Then, just as suddenly, she smiled, jumping up, back to her perky self once more.

"Your loss," she said, smiling brightly. She started to walk away from him, then turned back, eyes glittering. "I'll catch you later, after the auction."

She blew a kiss his direction, then bounced off to join a group of wealthy bachelors in form fitting swim trunks, who seemed more than happy to have her company. Owen watched her for several moments. The discomfort did not subside.

Something was wrong. They way she'd spoken to him, the way she acted... None of it felt right and it set off warning bells in his mind. Owen was getting a sinking feeling about the whole trip. That was never a good thing to experience while on a boat.

He didn't have much time to dwell on it, however.

"Owen Burnett! What a surprise!"

Turning his head, only Owen's ability to suppress his own emotions by design allowed him to withhold a cringe. Bruce Wayne was heading his way, all smiles and perfectly sculpted muscles. He supposed it was a side effect of running around like an idiot in a bat suit, although he could never say as much to anybody.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne," was all he said, his voice cold and measured. Part of him hoped that would be enough to deter the man, but a larger part of him knew that simply wouldn't happen. Sure enough, Bruce made himself comfortable on the lounge chair right next to Owen's.

"Isn't it though?" Bruce remarked, the false cheerfulness so obvious, it made his spine crawl. It never ceased to astound Owen how blind the humans around him allowed themselves to be, ignoring how blatantly clear the facts pointed to Bruce Wayne as Batman. He didn't even allow himself to contemplate the selective ignorance when it came to that Superman character.

"So," Bruce went on, "did you catch the Metropolis Sharks game yesterday? Amazing stuff. Why, in the first quarter alone..."

Owen turned off his laptop, rested his head against the back of his lounge chair, and resigned himself to his fate.

* * * * * *

It took Owen the better part of three hours to shake Bruce Wayne. The uneasiness he'd felt about his odd interaction with the strange girl grew during his forced conversation with the billionaire, when it became readily apparent that he was only sitting close to Owen in order to keep an eye on her. Whatever stupid super villain or verifiable psychotic Bruce followed to this ship, Owen wanted nothing to do with it.

She vanished into the crowd eventually, at which point Bruce made his excuses and left. It was just as well. The dinner prior to the charity auction was starting soon, but all of Owen's personalities came to the unanimous conclusion that they'd socialized enough for one day. Owen passed the time waiting for the dinner to finish and the auction to begin by familiarizing himself with the mini-bar in his stateroom and ordering ridiculous amounts of room service, all of which was billed directly to David Xanatos.

Childish, perhaps, but Owen didn't care much at this point. He'd had to listen to Bruce Wayne make small talk. Such a sacrifice was worth at least a five-dollar bag of peanuts and a ten-dollar mini-tumbler of brandy or three.

He arrived at the Poseidon Ballroom more sober than he'd have liked. Taking his numbered paddle from a man in a tuxedo, Owen found a seat in the back. The event was far from formal and, even in the polo shirt, sport coat, and slacks he'd changed into before arriving, he felt overdressed. Most of the guests were still in swimming attire. Regardless, he was much more comfortable than he had been in that horrid Hawaiian shirt.

The shirt in question suffered a minor mishap sometime after the second tumbler of brandy disappeared out of the mini-bar. Currently, the shirt was silently riding the waves of the Atlantic, far, far out to sea, possibly to become tangled in a dolphin or Aquaman in the near future. If David asked, Owen already decided to blame the mishap on an unusually strong and sudden passing breeze.

Again, such an action of obvious disobedience could be regarded as childish, but Owen doubted David would expect much else.

The speeches prior to the start of the actual auction failed to keep Owen's interest. While he was certain the plight of diseased-ridden children with no parents living in low-income housing in some polluted city constituted a worthy cause, Owen still wished that red-faced, jolly emcee would just get on with it so he could go back to hiding in his stateroom. The sooner Xanatos Enterprises made a spectacular donation to whatever foundation this happened to be benefiting, the sooner Owen would feel his responsibilities to the whole affair had ended. 

On and on, the speeches droned, as person after person who overestimated their own importance put in their two cents. They went on to tell them things they already knew. This was a closed auction, where the items to be bid upon had not yet been revealed to the public. All the proceeds were going to charity and a big thank you was extended to various individuals for their support, both monetary and otherwise. Owen stared down at his numbered paddle and briefly considered whacking himself in the head with it, but before it came to that, the auction thankfully began.

Because there was no way of knowing what items would be showcased at the auction, Owen received fairly strict instructions from David prior to his boarding the ship. He was to purchase something, pay far too much for it, preferably outbidding Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne out of spite. If possible, it should match the decor of the castle, so they could keep it around for at least a few months in case reporters stopped by, then it would be quietly disposed of in some sneaky way. Or, they would sell it on eBay. Whatever it took.

To the outside observer, Owen paid close attention to the proceedings around him, his eyes barely blinking. In reality, however, Owen's mind was elsewhere, mostly concerning a large report he needed to put together by Monday, along with the slight niggling he carried with him from his conversation with the strange girl earlier in the day. He saw her, sitting by the door, still wearing her swimsuit and looking around the room with bright, unguarded eyes.

He made a few half-hearted bids on various items, not trying overly hard to win any of them, knowing none were suitable. Jewel-studded knick-knacks went to rich boys with cooing, pretty girls by their sides. Vacation getaways, cruise packages, semi-valuable artwork, and pointless antiques sold for many times their actual value. Owen finally broke down and purchased a supposedly antique desk, which he knew could not have been made more than fifty years ago. It was big, had little carved creatures on the legs, and was horribly, horribly tacky.

David would enjoy disposing of it. In fact, the billionaire had mentioned something about recalibrating the targeting nodes on the Steel Clan. It would be an interesting enough way to kill an afternoon, at least.

At long last, the auction was nearly over.

"And now for our final item," said the perpetually smiling, broad-faced emcee. "This particular item of undisclosed value was found in the attic of William Turnier, renowned Norse archaeologist. A pendant of grand size, the semi-precious stone at the center is in fine condition. Although, just a warning..." The emcee paused, leaning forward on his podium for effect, giving the crowd a wide grin and a wink. "Legend has it this item is cursed."

The crowed erupted in twittering laughter. Owen sighed at the dramatics. These people wouldn't know a real curse if it walked up to them in drag and did a can-can.

The tuxedoed young man that had given him his bidding paddle walked across the stage, holding whatever it was in his hands under a small cloth. He set it on a pedestal on the center of the stage, the emcee striding over to it. He laid his chubby fingers over the cloth, drawing out the moment for as long as possible.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present..." The emcee waited a beat more, then whipped away the cloth in a wild motion. "The Eye of Odin!"

Owen blinked.

The Eye of Odin? Here? After all of those centuries, for it to turn up in a cheesy charity auction was simply astounding. Its value, higher than anything money could buy, made Owen's breath catch briefly in his throat.

"Seems sort of garish and large for a necklace," a socialite sitting near him remarked in a stage whisper to her boyfriend, who chuckled and nodded.

Owen's hand tightened around the paddle.

"For such a rare and historical piece," the emcee was saying, returning to his podium, "shall we start the bidding at ten thousand dollars?"

"Ten thousand," a deep voice called out instantly, a paddle rising into the air.

"I have ten thousand from Mr. Jason Blood," said the emcee, pointing to the man. Owen glanced over at the other immortal, eyes narrowing. "Do I hear twenty?"

"Twenty," said Lex Luthor.

Owen leaned back, watching the bidding for a time, getting an idea of who his competition would be. At first, a variety of individual made bids, many of whom he suspected did not know the Eye's true value. As the price started to climb into the millions, however, the ignorant dropped away in stunned silence, the knowledgeable fighting tooth and nail for the pendent. Eventually, they arrived near three million dollars, the emcee's eyes nearly popping out of his skull in delight. It was down to Luthor and Bruce Wayne, who had taken over the bidding after a softly spoken word from Jason.

Owen decided enough was enough.

"Thirty," he said, voice loud and clear, knowing David's 'special projects' budget could more than absorb the cost. The room collectively gasped and turned to stare at him. The emcee looked as though he was having difficulty breathing.

"Th-thirty million dollars?" he asked and Owen gave a small nod in confirmation. The emcee made an odd noise low in his throat. "Thirty million dollars to Owen Burnett of Xanatos Enterprises! Do we have any other bids?"

Luthor looked away, face kept carefully controlled. Jason was whispering something hurriedly to Bruce Wayne, at least until Owen caught his eye. He lowered his glasses, ice blue eyes meeting brown, and Jason went silent.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Owen could feel the presence of the demon Etrigan just under the surface of Jason's skin and he made absolutely sure Etrigan knew exactly who he was dealing with under his own facade. Jason's eyes widened comically and he whispered a single, curt word to Bruce, who looked vaguely shocked, then nodded, finally shaking his head 'no' to the emcee.

"Going once, going twice, sold! To Owen Burnett of Xanatos Enterprises for thirty million dollars!" cried the emcee, looking at Owen with something resembling reverence. "Thank you for your extremely kind donation."

Again, Owen only gave a single nod.

The auction ended, everyone getting out of their seats, most whispering and pointing in Owen's direction. He paid them no mind, making his way to the front of the stage. He wanted to gain possession of the Eye of Odin as quickly as possible, hopefully to avoid any nasty mishaps.

"You know," the stunned emcee told him as he reached the podium, "that item was only appraised at twenty-five thousand. I don't understand why you paid so much."

"It is for a worthy cause, " Owen replied, giving the prepared company line. "That aside, Mr. Xanatos has an interest in historical items."

"I would say so," the emcee agreed with a nervous chuckle. "The man did move an entire Scottish castle to the top of his personal skyscraper."

"Quite." The tuxedoed young man approached him with the Eye, carrying it much more gingerly than before, holding the heavy piece within the cloth once again. Owen took his new possession, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

The power of the artifact was astounding, the energy making the tips of his fingers tingle. While the Eye would never have an effect upon him like it would any mortals that chose to use it carelessly, he could still respect the sheer energy it contained. In the wrong hands, the effects of the Eye were potentially devastating.

That aside, Odin would probably be very happy if he got it back. The God had zero depth perception at the moment. The last few times Puck had run into him, he'd done nothing but complain about it. It got tedious after awhile.

Not that Puck intended to return the Eye anytime soon. Even though Owen had it in his possession, it still technically belonged to David Xanatos. No, Odin would probably not see his eye for awhile, but Owen wasn't bothered. Never mind blowing up antique desks with robots - the Eye had a much larger potential for mischievous fun.

Besides, Odin still owed him five quid from a bar bet they made back in the 19th century.

"I'll trust you will make sure that gets returned to its rightful owner."

Owen looked up, covering the Eye with the cloth in one smooth movement. Jason stared at him suspiciously, an equally suspicious Bruce Wayne by his side. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, Owen regarded both men impassively.

"It belongs to David Xanatos," he informed them. "He may do with it as he wishes."

"That's not what I mean and you damn well know it," Jason said, fists clenching, a little bit of his demon showing through.

"There can be no other meaning," Owen replied. "As Mr. Xanatos's faithful attache, I am bound to deliver this item to him."

"You're no better than a puppet," Jason said, a trace of a sneer in his voice.

Owen looked levelly at him for a moment, raising a single eyebrow. "I see the concept of irony is still lost on you, Mr. Blood," he said. He turned to the emcee. "If it is permissible, I would prefer to keep the Eye in my possession. I will transfer the funds directly to your account once I return to my stateroom."

"Ah, yes. That's fine," the emcee said, looking warily between the three men. "We can provide a security escort, if you wish."

"That will not be necessary." Owen tucked the Eye into a hidden pocket of his jacket. He nodded to Bruce Wayne and Jason in turn. "Good evening, gentlemen."

Owen headed for the exit of the ballroom, putting the two men out of his mind. There was nothing either of them could do. Jason knew better than to cross him and Wayne would not risk making an enemy of David Xanatos. Bruce Wayne had more than enough enemies already.

The Fiesta Deck was crowded, all the guests enjoying the after auction party. A flash of gold caught his eye and Owen turned, startled to see the woman from earlier. She winked, gave him a wave, then disappeared into the crowd, toward the back of the ship.

Resting his hand over the hidden Eye in his coat, Owen hurried for his stateroom. The uneasiness he felt didn't pass. He had a feeling it wouldn't until he was off the boat once and for all. That aside, the music blaring out of the nearby speakers was horrid. The very thought of his quiet, calm stateroom never felt so tempting.

He never made it there, unfortunately.

"Eww! Gross!"

Against his better judgement, Owen paused in his flight, turning in the direction of the distressed squeal. Some girl in a bikini, standing next to her rich boyfriend, wiped furiously at her arm, trying to remove what looked like seaweed clinging to her skin.

"It just jumped out of the water and grabbed me!" she whined loudly to all in earshot. She stepped back from the railing, turning an accusatory eye on her boyfriend. "Why didn't you stop it, Charles?"

Charles, to his credit, seemed at a loss to come up with an explanation, but was saved from trying when another bit of seaweed jumped out of the water and slapped down on the deck. Another followed it, then another, and panicked murmurings started rumbling through the crowd around Owen.

Turning around, he understood why. The entire ship was rapidly being covered in the ropy green matter. It wrapped around the rails like a snake clinging to a tree branch, long tendrils slithering out, driving the frightened crowd to the center of the deck. A loud groaning noise filled the air, followed by a small explosion, the ship lurching to a stop. Smoke rose from underneath. The engine had burned out, no doubt as tangled in the seaweed as the rest of the ship.

A shadow crossed over them, blotting out the bright light of the full moon above, and Owen looked up. Above them, hanging like a silent specter, floated a blimp. Two girls in spandex hung from ropes, grinning down as they made their entrances. As recognition dawned on the partygoers, the panic increased ten-fold.

It was Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn.

Owen sighed.

"Hello, boys and girls!" Ivy shouted over the throng. "Hope you don't mind if we crash your little party!"

"Yeah, because what's a party without a clown?" Harley added, cheerfully flipping down to the deck, landing prettily.

People tried to run, but there was no place to go. Owen held perfectly still as the crowd surged around him, people shouting and pushing past him, only to be stopped by seaweed wrapping around their bodies. A tendril snaked out to Owen as well, touching lightly at his cheek, then reached around him. It didn't hold him tightly like as it did the others. Instead, it settled loosely around his shoulders, almost like the warm caress of an old friend.

Well, cold, wet, and slimy might be more accurate than warm, Owen reflected, but the old friend part was right on the money.

He'd always had a way with plants.

"We can't stay long," Ivy was saying as she jumped off the rope, the seaweed catching her and gently carrying her down to the deck. "I know how disappointed you all must be. We'll just take a few party favors and be on our way."

The seaweed did its part, lifting watches, jewelry, money, and anything else of value off the distressed party guests and up to the blimp. Several, thick tendrils broke through the door to the Poseidon Ballroom, emerging with items from the auction. The desk Owen purchased earlier in the evening slipped out of the slimy grasp of the plant, never making it to the blimp, instead smashing into a million pieces on the deck. Owen shrugged. 

At least that was one less thing he had to worry about.

The criminally-inclined seaweed didn't rob him directly, however, much more content to slip around his body, sliding under his shirt and stroking lightly at his chest. It felt very, very strange, but not altogether unpleasant. Still, he didn't so much as blink, standing perfectly still, waiting for the robbery to end.

Harley bounced over to him by way of several perfectly executed front handsprings. She grinned, her painted face joyful and animated. Even as she waved some kind of gun in his face, Owen didn't react.

"You should have listened to my joke earlier, cutie," she said, Owen instantly making the connection with the strange woman from earlier. "What do you call a boat full of rich people in the middle of the ocean?"

Owen stared at her impassively. She clearly wanted some kind of response, and he knew better than to argue with deranged psychotics holding weapons. His experiences within the employ of David Xanatos taught him that much.

"I can't imagine," he said evenly.

"Easy pickin's!" she crowed, taking Owen's glasses off his face and bounding away.

Owen didn't find that particularly funny.

Ivy noticed him, a calm center in the storm of human panic and fear. She walked toward him, frowning at the seaweed that wasn't stealing from him so much as molesting him. Then, she smiled, looping her arms around his neck. He noticed she smelled faintly of trees and green growing things, a breath of fresh air from the scent of smoke, engine fuel, and the salty sea.

"Well, my baby seems to like you," she said, looking down at the seaweed still fondling Owen with apparent reverence. "Can't say I've ever seen that before. Why do you think that is?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea, ma'am," Owen replied.

Ivy laughed, looking over at Harley, who was busy harassing other guests. "Did you hear that Harle? He called me, 'ma'am'!"

She turned back to Owen, smiling warmly, though a little evilly. "So polite. I almost hate to do this." She slipped a hand into the front of his jacket, drawing out the Eye of Odin from his pocket. Turning it over in her hand, she looked at it for a few seconds, then shrugged, tossing it over her shoulder. The plant caught it and carried it away to the blimp with all the other valuables.

Owen watched the Eye as it rose and sighed again, making the women draped around him laugh softly.

"It's just business," Ivy said, patting Owen’s face. She rubbed a gloved hand along his cheek. "Might have to steal you, too. You have very nice eyes."

Before Owen could reply, something flew across the deck. A bat-a-rang tore through one of the tendrils and Owen could feel more than hear the plant scream. Ivy cringed.

"Time to go," she said. She leaned forward, at first clearly planning to kiss Owen on the lips, then seemed to change her mind at the last second, pressing her lips to his cheek instead. Then, she was gone, the seaweed carrying her back up to the blimp, Harley following her on the rope, throwing acid-filled water balloons at Batman as she went. The clown girl was still wearing his glasses.

The plant slithered away from the boat, lingering a second longer on Owen, before disappearing into the crashing sea. The newly robbed party guests stood about the deck, stunned, not knowing where to go or what to do, as the battle between Batman and the girls raged on overhead. Without warning, an explosion rocked the ship, the fire and the engine fuel finally meeting, and that answered the question for them.

Everyone raced for the lifeboats.

Owen didn't move with them, watching the battle. Batman clearly had the upper hand, since Ivy and Harley had so many other concerns to contend with - their lives, their loot, and their blimp. In fact, it looked as though Batman nearly had them cornered when Owen heard a chorus of shouts over his shoulder, followed by panicked splashing. Batman was forced to give up his pursuit of the girls, going to the rescue of those in the overturned lifeboat.

Owen followed the blimp with his eyes until it disappeared from view, far off over the horizon.

The sinking boat started to tilt at a sharp angle. Owen calmly grasped the railing, seawater slopping over his shoes. He pulled out his cellphone, pressed the first speed dial button, and waited patiently for his call to connect. Two rings echoed over the line before a very chipper David Xanatos answered.

"Owen," he said, sounding pleased. "How goes the cruise?"

Owen looked around him, taking in the sinking ship, the smoke, the fire, the waterlogged passengers all fighting for places on the un-overturned lifeboats, and Batman trying in vain to calm everyone down. A screaming socialite slipped past him on the sloping deck and Owen reached down and grabbed her, hoisting her to her feet and placing her hands on the railing. She hurriedly made her way to the lifeboats without so much as a thank you.

"Not as well as we might have hoped," Owen said at last.

David chuckled. "So I hear."

"Sir, I would like to request some time off, if that would be possible," Owen said, wiping the stinging seawater out of his unprotected eyes. "There are some personal matters I must attend to."

He could almost imagine David nodding. "Very well, Owen. Would two days be sufficient?"

"I believe so, sir."

"So be it," David replied. "Enjoy your time off."

"Effective immediately?" Owen asked.

"Effective immediately," David confirmed. "See you on Monday."

"Thank you, sir." Owen disconnected the call, putting the cellphone in his pocket. Climbing on top of the railing, he dove gracefully into the water, turned himself into a dolphin, and headed straight for Gotham City.


End file.
